Refract
by Sereni T
Summary: It was - well, it was never easy, but it was simple enough. Just follow orders and get what needed to be done, done. But then there was the disaster in Kalamanda, and conspiracies in Noxus's High Command, and what is the Black Rose? And something's strange about the Prince... Sporadic updates.
1. One: Lux

**A/N: Places I got ideas from: How The Light Bends by Melted Jujubees, The Only Truth by Princess Garen, Knife in a Bird by Quarter 'till Class, and probably more which I'll add when I think of them.  
**

 **Pray for me, League of Legends fandom, for I have been struck down by the dreaded Lux/Talon spy story cliché! I mean, ahem. Welcome one and all to the thing I'm writing while taking a hiatus from Chainlinks.**

 **As always, lore is a bit dodgy, but I'm trying my best to keep things straight. The time period is, obviously, around the Kalamanda thing, but since Institute of War and the League is non-canon now, no one's about to butt in and tell Noxus and Demacia to quit it already.**

 **I'll be trying a few new things in this, like probably viewpoint switches by chapter, so bear with me. Also bear with my horrible attempts at political intrigue. Yeah, it's gonna get conspiracy up in here. And keep in mind that unreliable narrators are in effect.**

 **This chapter might start a little slow, or be slow in general. The whole story isn't going to be very action- or fight-heavy. But, thanks for reading, etc. You all make my daily drudgery more bearable.**

* * *

 **Refract**

 **Lux: How Does A Story Begin, Anyway?**

Kalamanda.

Lux had grown to hate that word.

Demacia and Noxus had been butting heads over the mining city for over half a year, now. For her, it meant months and months of risky, back-to-back missions, from the slums to the prisons to the various houses of nobles. So many documents stolen when she could get away with it, and memorized when she couldn't.

But the worst part wasn't being run ragged gathering information, like the whole effort depended solely on her. The worst part was what she gleaned from the documents she collected, the whispers she managed to overhear – the speculation on Demacia's motives and the dry records of negotiations – the worst part was being so close and so far away from her country, from her people. Her brother.

She'd been in Noxus for such a long time. The crown needed her skills here, sending valuable information back to Demacia. She knew that.

Yet, when she scanned yet another report of the Might of Demacia's presence in Kalamanda…

Lux hadn't seen her brother for years. Why did her breath hitch in her throat when she thought of Garen?

(she screamed and cried and when that got her nothing she begged for her brother – always her brother, never her parents, not when this was because of them – but they never let her see him and when she asked it only got worse)

The 'negotiations' – read: pissing contest – between the countries might come to a close soon, though, given recent events. After all, the assassination of Boram Darkwill, apparently at the hands of Demacians, effectively cut off the farce of civility.

In Lux's not-so-humble opinion, if it had been Demacia who had killed the man, someone among the higher-ups had an awful sense of timing. Yes, it did leave Noxus leaderless, but there were several strong candidates in place and igniting the country's lust for blood during a fragile peace… No one had saw fit to let her know the truth, anyway, so she could do no more than speculate.

Did it really matter? The breakdown of negotiations meant war, yes, and war meant glory and honor for Demacian soldiers –

(glory and honor and you should be grateful to fight for demacia, die for demacia, reading and rereading the measured tread and is this really, truly)

– but it also meant they would need as many able-bodied young men and women back home as possible, to fight. And Lux knew she was good. Her magic was without equal, the strongest her country had produced in generations.

She'd be called back. She would be.

Because of a war. She couldn't even summon up guilt about that, because it'd mean she could go home. Blood spilled, lives lost, and Lux could go home. And that – that was what she wanted most. It was.

(demacia is country demacia is home demacia is everything)

* * *

It wasn't even a particularly important bit of information. Just another minor official's opinion on the whole debacle with Darkwill. He'd had nothing new to add, but it was still Lux's job to report it.

So she slogged through the slums in the middle of the night, in the guise of a street rat. None of the night-life gave her a second glance, but being in these areas at all always made her footsteps quicken, even after all these years.

She wanted the comforting weight of her baton in her hand. But no, it was an unnecessary risk for a mission as short as this particular one, that she should complete without the extra focus it provided her magic. Though, they did say she'd get it again soon, so there was at least that.

She risked a glance in a nearby oily puddle to confirm her glamor was still completely solid. A bony, dirty, mousy-haired boy dressed in rags gazed back at her, features gaunt from hunger and exhaustion.

A brief, tiny smirk flitted over her lips, before it vanished as if it had never been.

Lux hurried of through the grimy streets again, keeping her head down. She had to be five blocks away in about as many minutes to meet with the person she was supposed to report to.

The streets were dark. They always were – long ago, the lamps that lined them might have worked as intended, but they were all smashed and the power was cut off anyway. She'd memorized the path a while ago, though, and she could've found her way with her eyes closed.

Half a block from the warehouse that was her destination, Lux was suddenly hit by a feeling of dread, of wrongness. Her stomach roiled, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. She slowed her steps.

A quick, subtle scan of the area told her little. All was quiet, with only the standard, faraway noises of the city breaking the silence. Normal. This place was chosen as the rendezvous point because there was nothing here, so no one frequented it.

Still, her gut instinct told her something wasn't right, and it hadn't failed her yet.

(this will be your teacher and instincts screaming this is a bad man, this is a man you can't trust but what could she even do about it, and he's smiling and don't touch me and gods don't come closer)

A few steps closer to the warehouse, and the uneasy feeling only intensified. But, she had to go and check in…

Lux focused, biting her lip, and bent the light around her so she was impossible to see by normal eyes. She couldn't hold the invisibility for longer than a few minutes without her baton, but it would suffice.

That was what saved her, in the end.

She stepped into the building quietly. The person she sought, a stocky man in clothing so Demacian it made her cringe – honestly, did he have no notion of subtlety, they were all bad but this one was worse than usual – stood near the back, leaning against a wall of crates. She approached him, briefly relived.

And then, from a shadow, a blue-cloaked figure dropped down and sliced the man's throat open.

The newly-made corpse crumpled as if in slow motion, and the assassin caught it and guided it down slowly. No sound was made but for the slight rustling of cloth. The killer began searching the body, even as a thin trail of bright crimson leaked out across the cold concrete.

He hadn't even had time to cry out, and now everything was again silent – still silent.

Lux emitted a choked noise, almost a squeak, before realizing what she'd just don't. She immediately pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes wide, but it was no use. The damage had been done.

The figure in the blue cloak tensed. Its – male body type, his – head snapped up in her direction. A hood shadowed his features, but she could still sense his gaze – not at her, through her, she reminded herself, he couldn't see her, she was still invisible.

Upon seeing no one, the assassin vanished into the shadows of the warehouse again. A display of caution, perhaps.

An assassin wearing a blue cloak, she thought, a skilled one that killed quietly and efficiently… oh, no. No. Lux broke out into a cold sweat, freezing on the spot. Talon. Gods, no.

Half-remembered facts flitted through her mind, old briefings and warnings and wanted posters. Talon, of the Du Couteau family, little known about his past, one of the most terrifyingly effective assassins in Noxus's employ. Information about him was basically nonexistent – he was like a ghost. Mostly because any Demacian who came in contact with him didn't live long enough to pass on anything.

Well, she was royally screwed –

No, focus. Lux shook her head. She would be fine, she would get out. She hadn't failed yet.

(you are demacia you are our best and brightest you cannot fail you are not allowed to fail)

She'd given her presence away – like an idiot, a fresh recruit, why had she done that – so Talon would be on alert, since he knew someone was there. She had maybe a minute and a half before she couldn't hold onto her invisibility any more, two if she wasn't concerned about migraines later. Which she wasn't.

She glanced backward. The exit wasn't so far away, she could reach it in seconds in a sprint. And she could be quiet enough when she tried.

Lux took two steps toward the doorway. Her footsteps were as quiet as she could make them, barely a tap on the concrete. Why had she had the bright idea to wear boots, anyway?

Still too loud. Talon appeared out of nowhere, a dark blur speeding past the lines of rotting crates. He came to a stop a bare few paces away from her position. He hadn't yet made an audible sound.

She froze once more, her muscles locking in place. Her heart was pounding a frantic rhythm in her chest, and she could hear her blood rush in her ears. Her lungs burned, begging for air, but she refused to let go of her held breath. If she so much as drew in air, he was close enough to notice the sound and then she'd be dead, visible or no.

Invisibility… a minute or so left before she hit her limit, she noted grimly.

Talon hadn't moved. His head was turning, apparently scanning the dark building. His gazed passed her over, unseeing. She caught a glimpse of gold eyes, dark hair, and sharp cheekbones under the hood before he turned away.

Several long seconds that stretched into infinity, and he prowled out of the warehouse. Lux slowly let out her breath of air and wiped her sweating hands on her shirt. She let her invisibility sputter out after a moment longer, when she was more or less certain Talon wouldn't be returning soon.

Her heart was beating three times as fast as normal. She forced herself to take deep breaths. Her hands were shaking. She clenched them into fists.

Had to focus, to think. Talon was gone, but there was no guarantee he wouldn't be back. And the person she was supposed to report to was – was dead, meaning no new orders. She had to come up with a plan herself.

Lux made her way to the man – no, the corpse, just a corpse now – on unsteady legs, and bent down to examine it. The corpse wouldn't have been carrying any papers, naturally – it would be the height of stupidity to carry around a spy's orders in writing.

She bit down on her squeamishness and sorted through the dead man's clothing. Why did he have to be wearing so much, anyway? It was the height of summer, and Noxus was full of smog and suffered terrible heat waves.

Her gruesome search yielded no fruit, and she scowled in frustration before her attention was captured by a glint from the floor. Previously hidden by the corpse's voluminous clothes, there was a long glass cylinder with an open top sitting innocently on the floor, its cap lying in the dust a hand's breadth away.

Lux stared at it blankly for a moment. She recognized it, it was the case they kept her baton in for the missions she didn't need it on, but why would it be –

The realization hit.

Open. Empty. Discarded, as if someone had dropped it in a hurry, or had been distracted by something. And most tellingly, contents missing.

Well, then.

(thirteen years old and the last gift she ever got before everything was coldhardlonely and it was so warm, safe, late nights clutching it to her chest while the tears flowed and she felt her magic hum and bend and shine)

(and then noxus and why couldn't she keep it but it was alright she had to be alright, you are strong, but she got it back so it was okay, always got it back)

* * *

They'd notice when Lux's latest report failed to make its way to Intelligence, of course. But even in the best-case scenario, it would likely be more than a month before that led to someone else checking in on her. This… situation had never happened to her before, but she was well aware of both protocol and the snail's pace at which bureaucracy tended to move.

And that was discounting the tensions in Kalamanda that would undoubtedly keep Demacia's… slightly lacing intelligence department occupied. It would only get worse if and when a war erupted.

There was a twinge of guilt at the disparaging thoughts toward her country, but their information network was rather underdeveloped. A population raised to prefer more honorable combat combined with a general dearth of subtlety – she'd swear it was genetic, but that made no sense scientifically – made for a few issues. Namely, the overreliance on herself and the few other competent infiltrators that hadn't escaped Lux's notice, as much as it pained her to admit.

At any rate, it meant she was on her own for a month at the very least, but also that she had that long to try and get her baton back. If she told whoever came about the events that caused her loss, she'd probably be told to forget it and eventually be issued a new one. After maybe half a year. The baton hadn't been easy to craft, and she would hardly be recalled just so it could be attuned to her magic, either.

It wouldn't be the same, anyway. The amount of sentiment she had for what was ultimately an object was probably an issue –

(long days and longer nights and she couldn't bring herself to care, not for people, not after her parents, objects were so much safer)

– but even if it was silly, her baton was important to her.

Think of it like a mission, Lux told herself. Except, this time it's – personal. The thought brought a bitter smile.

What did she need to do? She needed to get her baton back. Currently, Talon Du Couteau likely had possession of it. She shivered. He probably didn't realize its significance, as she'd always been careful to hide it well when she did use it, but it'd been a suspicious object carried by a suspicious Demacian in Noxus for suspicious reasons,

Why were the people she delivered reports to all so awful at going unnoticed? Right, because if they weren't, they'd be spying, not taking reports.

The Du Couteau family had no mages, so they wouldn't know it as a magical focus. Noxian High Command, on the other hand, was connected to several mages, though the details were scarce. The Du Couteaus didn't get along with High command very well, but even so, if someone who did realize her baton's importance came across it, it'd be shipped off to them immediately. They could make everything far more difficult, even in their current leaderless state.

That was… actually, as far as Lux knew, Noxus was not aware of the existence of a Demacian light mage beyond vague rumors. This had just gotten far more important, hadn't it? Damn it all. Her superiors would have her head.

So. Get her baton back, and quickly, which meant she had to get into the Du Couteau household inconspicuously. And find out where it had been stashed, lest she be left to wander about aimlessly.

Infiltrate a mansion full of trained assassins – actually, only one, with the General Du Couteau absent lately, the eldest, Katarina, in Kalamanda, and the youngest, Cassiopeia, not trained as such – not that it made things any better. The mansion was probably full of maids and cleaning staff, too, if her past experiences in nobles' houses told her anything.

Servants… hm. Now that was an idea. Not a great one, or even a good one, but better than trying to sneak in, invisible, and conduct a search, hunting down Talon and questioning him – forget bad, that was downright suicidal – or not having a plan.

Lux winced. This was not going to be fun, at all.

(no it doesn't matter what you feel, you get it done and get it done well for the good of all, for the good of demacia, so she pasted smiles over the cracks and got it done like a good girl)

* * *

The disguise was relatively simple, and one she'd worn before, whenever she needed to be serving staff to some noble and the mission allowed her to end the employment in non-suspicious circumstances. It was mostly her real appearance, to sustain it easily, but with dark brown hair and slate-gray eyes in place of her painfully Demacian blonde and blue.

To complete the image, Lux gave herself a worn maid's uniform with a ragged cloak clasped over it. She examined herself in a nearby broken window and nodded, satisfied.

She strolled into a run-down tavern a block away from the Du Couteau mansion, keeping her head bowed and shoulders hunched. The hour was getting late, so there were a decent amount of patrons present, though not as many as there would be later. That would work.

Lux made her way directly to the bar, collapsing on an empty stool and propping her chin on her hand. The bartender – surly, bald, middle-aged – looked over at her.

"What'll it be, girl?" he rumbled.

She fixed a scowl on her face. "Whatever's the strongest drink you've got," she growled.

The bartender frowned. "Sure you can handle that?"

Lux nodded sharply.

"Your grave, girl." He set a chipped mug on the counter and filled it from a nearby bottle, then turned his attention to other customers.

She immediately picked up the mug and knocked back the drink, making sure to swallow less that she appeared to. The liquid scalded her throat on the way down, but she bore it without visible reaction. She'd hardly be a good spy if she had no alcohol tolerance, she thought wryly.

"Down on luck, Lucy?" The question came from a man sitting on the barstool next to her, and it took a second to realize it was aimed at her.

Lux set down her drink to look at him. He'd called her Lucy, the name she gave with this particular face, so he knew this persona. She scanned the man. Short dark hair, thin features – ah, she knew him. Adrian, if she recalled correctly, worked with her for a while in housekeeping while she was spying on that fat noble lady. She'd gotten the impression that he liked her, more or less.

"Don't remind me," she grumbled, keeping in character. "It's just been, ugh, bad luck after more bad luck lately." She took a sip from her mug.

"Really?" said Adrian, looking at her sideways. "I wouldn't have thought you… I mean, you do good work. Why did you bail on that job with Lady Mercier, anyway? It paid pretty well."

"I already said," Lux replied, "and you should've noticed even if I didn't, you know. I couldn't stand her, remember?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. I guess I'm being a bit of a hypocrite. I quit too."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Mhm. One tantrum too many, and half of us walked away. I actually work for the Du Couteaus now. You know, that assassin family a ways down the street."

Lux's eyes widened before she could stop it. The sheer chance – well, she supposed, with all the bad luck she'd suffered over the years, someone out there owed her. She carefully schooled her expression to one of mild curiosity.

"Them? Aren't they supposed to be a really important family? How'd you pull it off?" she asked.

"What," Adrian said, "are you implying I'm not good enough for the big-shots?" He shook his head, snorting. "Anyway, it wasn't all that hard. Ever since General Du Couteau up and vanished, they haven't kept servants well. His daughters don't exactly have easy personalities to get along with, though you didn't hear me say that, and with the youngest's condition…"

"Condition?" she repeated. She'd hear little recently about Cassiopeia Du Couteau in the past year, except that she'd become oddly reclusive.

Adrian sighed. "That, I really shouldn't tell you. I'd be skinned alive if she found out."

Damn. "No, I get it."

"But my point is, they go through maids and stuff like Mercier went through clothes," he said, shrugging. "Got worse when Lady Katarina went off to Kalamanda, since with her sister's – I mean, the person basically in charge right now is –" he glanced around, then lowered his voice to a whisper, "– Talon."

Lux's eyebrows rose. "Talon? You mean, that Talon? The assassin?"

"How many Talons are there?" he said. "But, yeah. The pants-shittingly terrifying assassin."

"Why do you stay, then?"

"Pay's good. Also, when I said they go through servants fast, I mean those servants get on one of their nerves and get fired," Adrian confided. "I'm afraid of what'll happen to me if I just up and quit."

"That's – um. Alright, then." She couldn't come up with an appropriate response.

"I guess you could come work there if you really wanted Lucy," he said. "Probably wouldn't last long, but –"

"No," Lux interrupted, "it's fine. I'll take it. I'm not looking for anything long-term, anyway."

He peered at her strangely. Had she been overly forward? She took slow breaths to calm her racing heartbeat.

"Right, then," Adrian said. "They're really understaffed right now, so I guess I could just bring you in and not get asked a lot of questions."

"Are you serious?" she asked incredulously.

"But getting paid would mean facing down Talon," he mused. "Ugh, I'm not looking forward to that. The things I do… you'd better be grateful, you know." The half-smile that quirked at his mouth showed he was mostly joking.

"Oh, believe me, I am," she assured. "I honestly don't know how to thank you." It was the truth, too. She'd have been stuck up a creek without a boat – metaphorically – if she hadn't run into him. They weren't even friends, not really, and this was Noxus, which made it all the more astonishing.

Adrian's cheeks tinged pink. "I just – oh, never mind. Do you want to, uh, head there now? I mean –"

"Sure," she said, with a shrug. She pretended to take one last sip of her drink, then dug into her pockets for change. Fortunately, she had some left from the last time she'd held a paying job in this city, because gods knew the idea that she needed Noxian currency never crossed the minds of Intelligence. What did they even expect her to do with coins with Jarvan III's face stamped on them?

At any rate, she decided, she might as well ride the wave of good fortune while it lasted.

(nothing good can ever last)


	2. Two: Talon

**A/N: Is that some semblance of plot I see here? Hm, probably just the light playing tricks on me. Heheh. Get it? It's a pun, because Lux – oh, never mind.**

 **If you see any little things that seem familiar, it's probably because I consciously/unconsciously lifted them from other stories. Woo, originality.**

 **Anyway, here we go. Chapter 2. Reminder: possible unreliable narrator in effect. Don't expect future chapters anywhere near this quick, I think I'm giving myself carpal tunnel writing so. Many. Words.**

* * *

 **Refract**

 **Talon: It Starts When Something Changes.**

The mansion felt like a prison. Even for all its size, its walls still closed in on him, and there was never enough space or air.

Talon had thought that getting away for a while, doing what he was actually meant to do would help. It did, for a bit. But after it was over, everything tied up, body disposed of and that strange wand he found stashed away, the brief taste of freedom just made returning here worse.

He tried to find some guilt for that thought, but he just ended up cursing Kat's decision to leave and put him in charge of this household for the thousandth time. This – he wasn't cut out for this. In the end, he was just another street rat with enough skill to be useful.

He leaned against a nearby wall and let out a huff.

The worst part was, he'd been so sure someone had been there, back in that warehouse. Someone had been watching him, he knew it. Yet, he hadn't found them, hadn't found anyone. It grated. He did not like leaving possible loose ends, especially if he didn't know what they were.

Voices from down the hall. Talon jerked himself out of his thoughts, pushing himself upright to face whoever it was squarely.

It was a man and a woman. He belatedly recognized the man as one of the housekeeping staff, but the woman wasn't familiar. She was young, barely more than a girl, with delicate features. Both seemed nervous as they stopped in front of him.

"Oh," the man said, in a small voice. What was his name? "Um, hello, sir."

"What is it?" Talon asked. The servants tended to avoid him if possible, so this one obviously had something important to say. Or, at least, something he considered important.

The man looked down. "I just wanted to – well, this is Lucy," he said, briefly laying a hand on the girl's shoulder. "She's trained as a maid, and, um, I was wondering if she could maybe work here? Since we're kind of understaffed at the moment. Um, no offense meant."

For a second, he wondered why he had to be to one bothered about this. Then he realized that oh, yes, he was the one that was supposed to be bothered about it. Wonderful.

Evidently taking his lack of response as in invitation to keep babbling, the man continued. "She's out of work, and just wants a job for a little while, so would it be –"

The girl – Lucy – cut him off. "Adrian," she muttered, poking him in the arm, "I think he's thinking right now."

The man quickly shut up, his jaw closing with an audible click.

Well, she at least seemed to have a brain and a functioning pair of eyes, which already put her above many of the people Talon had to deal with. And Cass had recently scared away another maid, so this would save him the trouble of a search.

He probably should at least ask a few questions, he noted distantly, but he was completely unfamiliar with this kind of process. This was never supposed to be his responsibility. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Think of something…

"Is she competent?" he asked.

"Um – yes, very," the man stuttered.

"Then fine," Talon growled. "She can take care of bringing Cassiopeia her food and whatever else she needs." Cass, for some reason, seemed set on not taking care of herself or letting anyone else do it. As if she thought he'd give up on her or something if she made herself difficult enough to deal with.

The man winced. Talon ignored him, instead turning and walking off.

Why did Kat have to leave him with this, again?

The walls kept closing in on him.

* * *

The doors to Cass's room were closed, today, but not locked, which saved some effort. Talon swung them open and strode inside.

The room was dark, as usual. No lights were on, and the windows were covered by the tattered curtains. He scowled. So she'd been tearing at the furnishings again. The curtains had just been replaced.

Cass herself was sitting on the armchair in front of her desk, back turned to him. Three untouched trays laden with food were stacked haphazardly off in the corner. She was refusing to eat, the. Again.

Talon made his way to her side. She didn't turn of acknowledge his presence in any way, but her serpentine lower half shifted and coiled in on itself on the chair.

He glanced at the desk. It was a mess, to put it lightly, covered with piles of papers and ink stains and gouges from her claws. The words on the papers were indecipherable to him in the dark, but he could guess what they said. It was always about the same subject.

"Cass, you –" he began.

"How was your little outing?" she interrupted. "Did you have, ah, fun?" Her voice was syrupy, sweet in a concentrated, cloying sort of way.

"It was just some Demacian," Talon said, frowning. "We already knew that Demacia knows nothing. It was just to relieve stress. I told you."

"How nice," Cass said flatly. "So then, why are you hear? Come to scold me about property damage again? Or is it about wasting food, this time. Or – oh, I know!" She snapped her fingers in mock realization. "It's about scaring off that poor little maid, isn't it?"

He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "I was just concerned about you. Is that so hard to believe?"

"I was right, then."

Apparently, she was in one of those moods. They were occurring with more frequency, lately, and it didn't sit well with him that he still didn't know their cause.

"Never mind," he said instead.

Cass finally turned to face him, yellow eyes narrowed and glowing. "Oh, but I always love visits from you, Talon," she purred. "So sorry if I seemed, hm, ungrateful."

Talon shook his head. Abrupt personality switches meant today was an especially bad day for her. Kat was usually the one to deal with her once she got to this point, but naturally, Kat wasn't here right now.

"Have you found anything new?" he asked, in an effort to change the subject. Clarifying what he meant was unnecessary. There was only one thing he could've been talking about.

Her plastic smile dropped, and in its place a sharp sneer twisted her pretty features. "It's so incredibly irritating," she hissed, her tail lashing. "I know I've found something, but I can't get anything more about it! Look, there's a building I found, on the other side of the city." She swept away the papers on her desk, pushing some of them onto the floor, then slapped down a worn document in the cleared space.

"The trail of breadcrumbs," she muttered. "Roses. This is the only building – it's more of a house, honestly – that has rosebushes surrounding it."

"That seems a bit contrived. And obvious, for them," Talon said. "Are you sure about this?"

"Oh, yes, it's so obvious," Cass drawled. "Obvious… if you think it's so easy to sift through all this useless chaff and come up with something vaguely resembling a lead, why don't you do it, hm?"

"That wouldn't end well," he said.

"It wouldn't, no. So you'll let me explain without questioning me further, then?"

"… of course."

"Of course you will. Now, don't think I haven't looked at it more closely." Cass dug out a photograph from the mess of papers and laid it on top of the other document. From what he could see of it in the gloom, it showed a moderately-sized house, built in a style reminiscent of Ionian construction. It was, in fact, surrounded by rosebushes.

It looked innocuous, actually. Strange to think, that it might've been an important location for the secretive Black Rose.

"For the past week or so," Cass continued, "I've kept a watch on the house. No one has gone in or come out. While it might just mean the owners are on vacation, I took the liberty of digging into property records, and found something stranger. This place –" she tapped the photo, "has none."

"Those records tend to be unreliable," said Talon.

She waved a hand. "Yes, they're notoriously spotty. But spotty means that, for any given property, there would be at least something, if an incomplete something. Not the case for this one."

He frowned.

"It's been standing for hundreds of years, too," Cass added.

"Well maintained for hundreds of years old."

"Isn't it? Almost suspiciously well maintained. It's what I thought, at least."

"But you haven't found much else." At her nod, he asked, "Should I investigate?"

She tapped a finger to her lips, her expression pensive. "Don't get caught," she said in the end.

He scowled. "'Don't get caught'? Who do you think –"

"Oh, shut up," said Cass. "It was – I want to find Father, I want you to find something about him more than anything, but don't…"

Talon waited for her to finish her sentence, but it never came, and she didn't say anything else. He stepped away and was making toward the doors when it became obvious she wanted the conversation to get over.

But… "Cass," he said, pausing before the exit.

"What?" she snapped.

"You do have to eat."

"Oh, I have to, now, do I?"

Cass wasn't looking at him anymore, but he stared at her implacably. "You need to keep your strength up," he said.

"Hm. Well, you do. I don't fight."

"It's not only –" He shook his head. "You have another maid."

Her hands curled slowly, deliberately, the motion dragging her claws along her armrests, leaving gouges in the cushioned surface. "You've found another one already? I'm impressed."

"Cass –"

"Just leave already, won't you?" she hissed. "I told you I don't need one, so don't come complaining when I frighten away your newest acquisition."

Talon left. There was nothing more to say.

* * *

A letter was sitting on his desk. It wasn't an unusual occurrence in and of itself, as a small stack of them was dropped off for him each day. What was strange was that it was addressed to 'Talon'. Just 'Talon', with no honorifics or titles or mention of his connection to the Du Couteaus.

The mystery was quickly solved when he recognized the handwriting on the envelope as Kat's. As soon as that registered, he snatched up the letter and sliced the envelope open with one of the knives he always kept on himself.

The paper the letter was written on was low-quality and covered in wrinkles, and the handwriting itself was messy, as if rushed. Talon's eyes narrowed. Kat was never neat, exactly, but she was usually less messy than this.

 _Talon,_ it read, _I want to say this first: stop worrying about me. I know you are, and I'm fine. I can take care of myself just fine. Haven't even gotten hurt worse than a papercut. The papercut did sting like hell, though._

That… wasn't as reassuring as it could've ben. He'd seen Kat go through battles that left whole platoons cold in the ground without so much as a scratch.

 _Anyway, remember when I sent you that letter last month, and I said things were going pretty well considering it's Noxus and Demacia we're talking about? Well, you probably know already, but with Darkwill getting himself killed, everything's being ruined faster than a lord caught sleeping with a whore._

He brought a hand to his forehead.

 _Now suddenly everyone's acting like idiots. It's like it's contagious. No one thinks to ask for a moment how Demacian assassins managed to kill Darkwill and all the soldiers with him. Morons. They were all elites, and since when does Demacia even have assassins? The country is full of brutes._

Talon had heard of the Grand General's death, but only in vague outlines, not any of the details. Kat was right, the whole thing was suspicious, but… who would've wanted Darkwill dead? He'd been a strong man and an effective leader. Something was going on.

Come to think of it, didn't Darkwill have a son? He made a mental note to ask Cass to keep an eye on the boy.

 _Speaking of brutes, Garen left yesterday to go back to Demacia. Don't think he suspects anything's up at all. It's almost annoying. Wouldn't tell me why he got called back all of a sudden, either, but I can guess._

"I don't need to hear about your obsession with the Crownguard, Kat," Talon muttered.

 _Actually, I'm coming back home, too. I'm leaving Kalamanda tomorrow, so this letter will probably get to you a day or two before I do._

He blinked. What? Kat was coming – Kat was coming home. She was coming home. He didn't have to deal with – with all this for much longer.

He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, then turned his attention back to the letter.

 _I got fed some bull about 'consolidating our strength', but I know what they mean is there's going to be a war again. It's strange. All this effort at diplomacy here, and we're going back to war anyway._

 _War. Hm. It'll probably make headlines back home. Save me a copy of the paper when it does. I want to see what the peanut gallery says._

It was war, then. Talon wished he could say the thought of another war inspired something in him, whether it was eagerness or anxiety, but it would've been a lie. War was just war. He killed a few more people than in 'peace', yes, but it didn't affect him, not really. He was a weapon, after all, and did a knife care whether it was buried in a training dummy or in flesh?

 _Oh, and I said this in my letter to Cass, too, but have you found anything new in the search? Talk to me when I get back._

 _-Katarina_

The search. Talon set down the letter and sighed. General Du Couteau would know what to think about the circumstances surrounding the war, wouldn't he? The general would pick up on everything he was missing. And he'd be able to find out what was bothering Cass, and maybe curb Kat's recklessness while he was at it.

How long had it been, now? It felt like years and years, but it was really only less than one year. Everything would be so much easier if he was here.

But if he could do all that, if he had been here, they wouldn't have been in this situation in the first place. Talon wouldn't be getting ulcers trying to take care of the house, help organize the search, be responsible.

He could just leave, he thought, for the umpteenth time. Leave in the middle of the night, take to the streets again. Nothing was stopping him.

That was a lie, though, and for all the skills he had, lying wasn't one of them. At least, not to himself, and not about this.

Nothing was stopping him. Except his loyalty to the absent Du Couteau head and his daughters, his sense of 'I still owe this family', the thought of never being able to look Kat or Cass in the eye again, and a million other little things. He'd never be able to carry around the collection of knives he kept here, for one. Never see one of Cass's rare genuine smiles again, never spar with Kat until they were both bruised and bleeding and the doubts all quieted.

So many things. He'd lose all the memories, good and bad and somewhere in between, attached to this place. Lose his purpose. He would drift.

When had that become a bad thing?

Kat was coming back, he reminded himself. He didn't have to do this anymore, pretend he was something he wasn't, a noble or a leader or a person. She was coming back, and then – something. Something.

* * *

Night had long since fallen. It might have been past midnight, at this point, but Talon didn't care enough to check a clock. It wouldn't have been any use. Knowing the time wouldn't bring the morning any sooner, after all.

After what might have been minutes or hours of pacing the empty hallways, he decided enough was enough. His wandering around didn't help anything, so he turned and headed for the mansion's basement.

The basement was set up as an enormous training room, with an excess of dummies and targets and other miscellaneous equipment, as well as stockpiles of various knives. It had been turned into a training room after one too many incidents with Kat's weapons and holes in walls upstairs. Everything was covered with a thin coat of dust, as Talon didn't frequent the place, not like Kat did. Not like the general had.

He walked up to one of the training dummies and brushed off the layer of dust. It was old, he noted, but well maintained, even with all the punctures and slashes covering it.

Talon ran a finger over one mark in particular, the one places right over where a human's heart would've been. It was Kat's. He could tell from the smooth edges of the tear that it was the work of the type of blade she tended to use.

A gleam of reflected light from the floor caught his eye. He glanced down, noticing its source to be a knife, lying forgotten on the ground beside the dummy.

He bent down and picked it up. It was one of Kat's. As if his previous thoughts had conjured it up.

One of Kat's knives. A sudden sense of vertigo struck him. One of her knives was here, in his hand, but she was nowhere near. It wasn't – wasn't right. Wasn't…

The disorientation shifted to anger with no warning, and Talon scowled and flung it across the room at one of the targets. His distraction and the weapon's unfamiliar balance threw off his aim, causing the knife to hit off-center and at an angle.

He stared at it blankly.

It came unlodged and clattered to the floor.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he suddenly became aware of the feeling of being watched. He half-turned, looking back in the direction of the staircase he had come down.

A brown-haired girl stood there, her expression nervous. Who… the girl from before, the one that man had brought in as a maid. Lucy. Upon realizing she'd been noticed, her face paled and she let out a tiny 'eep'.

Talon frowned. Why had he not noticed her? Had he been that distracted that he was slipping?

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but seemed to reconsider and closed it again. She repeated the motion a few times before finally speaking.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"Why are you here?" he asked in return.

"I…" She hesitated. "It's just – you never told me where Miss Cassiopeia's room is."

Was that really why he was bothering him right now? Couldn't she have found out from someone else?

He was suddenly acutely aware of a developing headache.

"The right wing of the second floor," Talon said. "Go to the end of the hall. It's on the left."

"Oh. Thank you," Lucy said, looking down.

But even with her question answered, she didn't make to leave, instead lingering and occasionally muffling a yawn. He fixed her with a questioning stare after a few minutes of this.

She glanced at him and immediately looked away again. "I had looked for you earlier," she said reluctantly. "But I couldn't – you weren't in the dining hall for dinner, so I didn't know where you might've been."

He hadn't eaten dinner? No, he recalled, he hadn't. He'd been reading Kat's letter around the time when he usually ate. Odd, that he hadn't noticed. He wasn't even particularly hungry.

Still, what was the girl trying to get at? Was he missing something?

"I was elsewhere," Talon replied. "So?"

Lucy seemed to flounder for a response. "I guess – nothing, really," she mumbled. "But it's two in the morning right now, and I'm sorry if it's presumptuous, but it's… losing so much sleep isn't beneficial." Her voice dropped to a whisper at the end of her statement.

He stared at her, incredulous. Was this girl seriously worrying about his sleep?

Though, he hadn't realized it had gotten so late. Now that he thought about it, he felt weaker than usual, his muscles overworked.

And he'd forgotten to eat. His words to Cass about taking care of herself rang false, all of a sudden.

"Maybe it isn't," he said unenthusiastically.

"Maybe – memory issues, moodiness, generally slowed responses," Lucy muttered, barely audible.

Talon raised an eyebrow. "What?"

The girl started. "Oh! Um, effects of sleep deprivation," she said. "I'm sorry, I'm tired as well, I didn't mean to – to –"

She did seem tired, now that he cared to look, with dark circles under her eyes, but that wasn't what he'd been asking. "Where did you learn that?" No one in Noxus focused much on health. They generally didn't have the time.

Lucy stared at him for a moment, before determinedly staring at the wall. "I – I read a lot," she said.

"You can read?" Talon asked. The only reason he himself could read was because General Du Couteau had refused to let him stay illiterate. It was a skill mostly confined to the upper classes. She was, then, a contradiction.

"Yes?" she said, confused.

"Why are you a maid?"

Her eyes went comically wide. "I'm –" she tried, before cutting herself off. "This – it's what I could get," she finished lamely.

But that didn't make sense, unless… "You aren't from Noxus?" he said. Noxus had gotten its fair share of immigrants over the years, especially from, ironically, Ionia. It sounded nonsensical, particularly with how much outsiders were looked down on, but when it was the closest place – a good number of people just couldn't afford to go any farther.

Lucy inclined her head. "I've been living here for many years now," she said, "but before that, I wasn't…" She trailed off, sounding almost wistful, then looked back up, clearly expecting him to ask where she was from.

"Oh," he said.

In the end, it hardly mattered where she came from. It was irrelevant. Noxus had a way of making a lot of things irrelevant.

After a while of him not saying anything else, she quietly turned and started up the stairs.

"Wait," Talon said, on impulse.

The girl stopped and looked back at him, confusion written plainly on his face.

Why had he just done that? He didn't particularly want to keep talking to her, especially not now that – he stifled a yawn – it seemed exhaustion was finally catching up to him.

"What is it?" Lucy asked.

He wracked his brain, trying to come up with something that justified stopping her. "Cassiopeia," he said finally. "She hasn't been… taking care of herself very well, lately. She'll probably try to get you to stop bringing her food or checking on her." And there was a little bit of remorse at telling that to someone he barely knew, but Cass really had to stop doing that to herself.

"Oh. Um, alright."

"Something to know," Talon said.

Lucy nodded in assent, then headed up the stairs a little faster than was strictly necessary. He sighed.

The room seemed darker, somehow, or colder, now that he was alone again. Obviously, the temperature hadn't changed, but impressions often made no sense.

He glanced around. He could get some training done while he was here. But…

A wave of dizziness suddenly passed over him. Talon sat down hard, leaning against the side of the staircase. His eyelids were heavy. He let them fall shut. Just for a short while, he promised himself.

He didn't wake up until past noon.


	3. Three: Lux

**A/N: Long chapter. Not completely happy with it, but I just wanna get the burden of it off my shoulders. It's like, 21 pages written out, you know?**

 **I think I've said it before, that my plots are basically stages to put these folks on the showcase characterization. Yea, I'm not great with plot, but I do have an idea as to where this is going, don't worry. Or do worry, because I have an idea where this is going. Either way.**

 **Also, I'm going to be away for the next two weeks, and might not have time to write/respond to reviews.**

* * *

 **Refract**

 **Lux: Sometimes a lot of things change.**

Lux yawned, nearly tripping over her own feet as she made her way from the servants' quarters to the kitchens. Fortunately, she managed to catch herself after some moments of undignified flailing.

"You alright, Lucy?" Adrian asked, briefly pausing in his tracks.

"Just tired," she mumbled. The only reason she had gotten to sleep last night – earlier this morning, actually – was that she was afraid of what she might give away if she was even more sleep-deprived. Yesterday had been bad enough, she didn't need to make it worse.

Bad enough. Heh. It had been a disaster, only mitigated by the fact that Talon had also been tired enough to not catch on to all her slips. She hadn't even gotten a clue as to where he might have been keeping her baton, either.

"Right, then," said Adrian, who had started walking again. "You know Cassiopeia isn't going to be any easier to deal with if you're exhausted."

"Yes," Lux sighed, "I know."

"Right. Actually, I never told you where her room is, did I? It's –"

"I know where it is."

His eyebrows rose.

"Second floor, right wing. Right?"

"Um, yes," Adrian said, with audible surprise. "How'd you know?"

"I asked."

"Who'd you ask?"

"Talon," she muttered, under her breath.

"Wait, what?" he said. "Can you repeat that, because I could've sworn you just said –"

"I did." Lux brought a hand up to massage her temples, in an attempt to stave off a headache.

"Why –"

"Not now, please," she said, holding up a hand. "All my mental resources are being taken up just trying to stay awake. Ask me later, if you have to."

Whatever Adrian's response might have been, it was interrupted by their arrival to the kitchens – which was heralded by a plump, middle-aged woman with her hair in a bun rushing out with a full tray. The woman thrust the tray – which was laden with breakfast foods – into Lux's arms, saying, "That goes to Miss Cassiopeia," then ran back into the kitchens, looking vaguely harried.

Lux blinked.

"Well, that happened," Adrian said.

She shook her head, sighing.

"I don't know what that was about," he continued. "Cath – her real name's Catherine, but no one calls her that – isn't usually that… you know."

"Impatient?" Lux suggested, repositioning the tray so it was easier to hold. There was a lot of food on it, and it all looked appetizing, especially considering her own breakfast had been an apple and two slices of bread, eaten hurriedly.

(hunger was new to her she'd always had enough but now her stomach was turning in on itself and it hurt so much but did she want to go back on what she said? no she didn't but disobedience was)

Adrian made a fluttering gesture with his hand. "No, she is that," he said, "but not… oh, never mind."

"Right," said Lux. "I'll go bring this upstairs, I suppose." She fumbled with the tray for a few moments more, then gave up and held it with both arms. She'd never been good at balancing, anyway.

"Bring – oh, right, of course," Adrian said. "Um, do you want me to come with you? Or something?"

She raised an eyebrow. "No thank you, I think I'll be fine walking up a flight of stairs," she said dryly.

He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

* * *

The doors were half open, and voices were filtering through from inside. Two voices, Lux noted, one lower than the other, but both female. They weren't speaking especially loudly, so she could only make out the occasional word. Shame.

Regardless, it would be rude to enter when this Cassiopeia clearly had a visitor.

She sighed, looking down at the tray she was still carrying. It was annoyingly heavy. Who needed this many utensils to eat breakfast?

The silverware was polished to such a degree that the surfaces were basically mirrors. Lux smiled at her reflection. Her reflection smiled back. That dark-haired, dark-eyed girl was beginning to become familiar, just like all of the other faces she had worn, which was good and bad. Some days, she found it difficult to recall her true appearance.

(faces taken on and discarded when their use was done, discarded like so much trash, and the people who were those faces discarded too until she didn't how much was left of her)

A sudden noise from inside Cassiopeia's room – a thump like flesh hitting something solid – tore Lux out of her thoughts. She stepped back from the doors – and not a moment too soon, as they flew open violently and a woman with striking red hair and a scar over one eye stormed out, followed by a flurry of loose papers. This was Katarina Du Couteau, she realized, mentally matching the face to a long-ago seen profile. The eldest daughter of the family, and an important symbol for Noxus. She'd come back from Kalamanda? What did that mean?

"So damned stubborn," Katarina was saying, under her breath. "Where is Talon, anyway? I swear, if he's hiding from me again…"

Actually, she'd not seen Talon come out from the basement yesterday, and she'd waited for a while. Most likely, he'd fallen asleep there, but should she –

Before her better sense could take over, Lux was stepping into the middle of the hallway, in Katarina's path. The woman's eyes – bright, bright green – snapped to her, and she swallowed nervously.

"What is it?" Katarina growled, those green eyes narrowing.

Lux took a deep breath, then said, "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I – were you looking for Talon?"

"Depends," said Katarina. "Why do you want to know?"

"He's probably in the basement," she said quickly, almost tripping over her words." Might still be asleep, considering last night… um, yes. He's in the basement."

Katarina's expression became unreadable, but she nodded and stalked off. It was rather dramatic – actually, it reminded her of the way Talon walked. Which was odd, considering the general consensus, insomuch as there was one, was that they weren't related by blood. Or maybe not so odd, taking into account the whole nature versus nurture argument some scholars loved to harp on about – if it was a learned habit…

Lux shook her head. Now was not the time. She shifted her grip on the breakfast tray again, steeled her nerves, and walked into Cassiopeia Du Couteau's room, feeling vaguely like she was entering the lair of some monster.

No lights were on, so she could only see the room by what sunlight filtered through the windows – which were covered by curtains, but the curtains were torn so ragged that they didn't hardly do their job – and the slight illumination from the hallway. A quick survey of her surroundings showed her they weren't as – posh? – as might be expected of a noble of as high a standing as the owner of this room. All the furnishings were damaged, with deep gouges in solid surfaces and tears in anything soft.

Her observations were cut short, as the office chair in front of the desk swiveled around to reveal a woman who could only be Cassiopeia.

Lux flinched.

It wasn't because of the glare levelled at her, though that was rather intimidating, coming from glowing, yellow, slit-pupiled eyes. Nor was it due to the ugly sneer that bared sharp fangs and transformed the woman's features into something terrifying – at least, it mostly wasn't because of that.

No – it was because, in place of human legs, Cassiopeia Du Couteau had a long, sinuous tail from her waist down, like that of a snake.

Oh, Lux thought, reeling. That was why she hadn't been seen in public since – that was what Adrian had meant by 'condition'. Well, then.

Upon seeing Lux standing there, Cassiopeia's expression shifted to one of vague disappointment, as opposed to the unmitigated fury that had been present a moment before. She leaned back in her chair, muttering something that sounded like, "More fodder. Wonderful."

Lux forced her body to unfreeze. Her earlier impression about this being a monster's lair now seemed – no, she really couldn't label this woman a monster based on something superficial like appearance. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation – probably involving magic, these things always involved magic – and Cassiopeia likely dealt with too many snap judgements already.

(foolish little girl don't you know? the worst monsters are the ones that look human)

But Cassiopeia had looked away, now, and seemed to be steadfastly ignoring her. Lux slowly made her way forward, indecision making her steps hesitant. She wasn't acknowledged, even when she reached the woman's side.

She resisted the urge to cough pointedly – that would hardly help matters – and instead waited quietly. Upon the passing of two minutes or so, both her patience and her arm strength wore out.

"I've brought you your breakfast, ma'am," she said, holding out the tray.

Cassiopeia made a vague huffing noise that might have been recognition.

After another awkward moment, Lux asked, "Should I just leave it here, then? Would that be alright?"

Cassiopeia finally deigned to look at the faux-maid again, eyes narrowed to slits. "It doesn't matter," she hissed. "Throw it out the window, for all I care."

Lux frowned. "I feel that would be going against the spirit of the order to bring you food."

"Of course," Cassiopeia muttered. "And we can't have that, hm? Little drone, buzzing about to orders without a thought passing through your empty head."

Drone –

Empty –

Lux saw red.

Later, upon asking herself why that particular insult had set her off so badly, she wouldn't be able to come up with an answer.

(you do not need to think you do not need to question, you simply need to serve, demacia know best and we are demacia)

But at the moment, all rational thought was consumed by a tidal wave of rage.

She slowly set down the breakfast tray on Cassiopeia's desk, on top of a tall stack of paper, then smiled sweetly, clasping her hands in front of her. "Did you know, ma'am," she said brightly, "that self-destructive tendencies and lashing out at others can be signs of certain mental disorders? Have you considered seeing a doctor?"

Cassiopeia was frozen for several long seconds, before her face contorted into a terrifying rictus of rage. "Do you realize who you're speaking to, girl?" she snarled.

The little voice that should've been in the back of her head telling Lux to stop, no, what are you doing – it was gone, or perhaps just drowned out by the cacophony of fury and contempt for this spoiled, entitled excuse for a woman. What did she know, with her sheltered upbringing, with her fine clothes and house full of secants and her every whim catered to?

"I believe I'm speaking to a sheltered, spoiled noble with no idea of what kinds of hardships anyone else has to face to, in some cases, simply survive," Lux chirped. Her sunny smile hadn't faded.

"No idea –" Cassiopeia choked out. She physically flailed for a moment, knocking some of the myriad papers lying around out of their piles. "No idea?" she repeated softly, rising from her chair. "How can you – do you see this? Do you see me? Hm?" She gestured at herself. "I know hardship, little girl."

"And what terrible hardship it must be," said Lux. "Vanity confining you to an enormous mansion full of servants, with people who care about you. Why, you must be suffering so much more than all those people alone out there – without family or friends or guarantee of a tomorrow."

"You – I only have those things because nobody knows!" Cassiopeia exclaimed. "Do you think I confine myself here because of simple vanity? Hm? The moment anyone sees – sees this, they recoil and call me monster!" Her tail slapped the floor. "The moment I step outside, they'll want to lynch me!"

"If they do, they're hardly the sort of people you should care about anyway." Now that the initial rush of rage was wearing off – it wasn't gone, just less intense – Lux was beginning to regret her words. While Cassiopeia did have it better than some, that didn't mean her… situation should be so quickly dismissed.

(you have nothing to complain about girl you have food and water and a place to sleep stop crying do you know how much worse – do you know –)

Cassiopeia sneered, though her heart didn't seem to be in it. "You say that, as if anyone could look at me and honestly care about a beast."

She blinked. What – that wasn't – this woman actually did have a case of depression, didn't she.

"That's – no," Lux said. "I'm sure your sister cares about you. And Talon does too, obviously."

"He doesn't," Cassiopeia muttered.

"He was worried about you when I spoke to him."

"He…" Cassiopeia trailed off. "That's not… hm." She sat down again and looked away, expression pensive.

Lux waited for her to say something else, but all of the woman's anger seemed to have drained away. A silence again fell over the dark room, but it was one far less tense than the one that had reigned when she'd first entered.

Actually, it would probably be best if she left. There was no reason to stay, she'd already done what she was here to –

Wait.

What she was here to do –

Lux blanched. Without rage clouding her thoughts, she suddenly became acutely aware of just how stupid she'd acted. What had she been thinking? Lay low, she silently mocked herself, don't make waves. Angering Cassiopeia Du Couteau was not – why had she gotten angry so easily, anyway? Why had Cassiopeia's words hit her so hard?

(oh but don't pretend you don't know why, luxanna, with your pretty plastic smiles and your shining love for demacia. how easy it is to hurt the scared little girl under the bright shell)

Cassiopeia was still remaining silent, but she picked up the now-cold cup of tea on the tray lying on her desk and took a sip. With that, Lux decided it was a good time to make herself scarce, before she managed to make things even worse. She turned and exited the room, at a pace barely slow enough to not be termed running.

* * *

Lux's first instinct was to go back to the servant's quarters and hide in her bed and pretend she hadn't nearly ruined everything – actually, depending on how Cassiopeia held grudges, it might not be 'nearly' – but she stamped down on it through ease borne of practice. Besides, if she did that, someone would likely find her and ask uncomfortable questions.

So she instead wandered the thankfully empty halls of the mansion, half searching for a storage room or something that might be Talon's room, and half still berating herself. It did no good, she knew that, it was done and she knew what she'd done wrong and dwelling did no good –

(if she let herself think let herself remember she would lose her grip on herself and let the smile slip, and that was unacceptable)

– but it wasn't easy to stop.

She was rifling through one of the seemingly infinite offices in the house, opening and closing desk drawers and searching shelves, when the room became bathed in purple light. Eyes wide, Lux quickly shut the door before turning to its source – a luminescent spiral of violet swirling in a column.

It was a teleport spell. She recognized it from long nights spent working on it, trying to transport larger and larger objects ever greater distances. They hoped to be able to use it on people one day – though in her opinion, that day was hardly coming any time soon – but that still left the question of what was being sent to her. What could be so important that it had to be sent by experimental, costly spell, especially with the danger it posed to her position.

Though, Lux reminded herself, Intelligence didn't know what she was doing. This was one of the few times where their questionable actions were out of ignorance rather than sheer incompetence.

Her thoughts were cut off as the teleport resolved itself with little fanfare, the light dying away as if it had never been. Rather underwhelmingly for such a long channel time, a small, plain envelope with no markings dropped out of the air.

Lux took it before it hit the ground. Nothing suggested it was for her, of course, but who else would be the recipient of a message delivered via experimental Demacian teleport spell? Certainly not the Du Couteaus… she hoped.

With another cautious glance toward the door – no, still close, no one there – she dragged a finger under the flap of the envelope, then pulled out its contents.

The stationary was the kind commonly used by Intelligence. Definitely for her, then. Lux unfolded the paper. The handwriting was neat enough, but blocky and degenerating into a scrawl at points, as if someone with bad penmanship had made their best effort at writing neatly. She vaguely recognized it, but it wasn't the hand of anyone she'd seen lately.

 _Sis,_ it was addressed.

Oh. Well, then. Well.

Focus, Lux thought. Focus now, react later.

 _It's been a while, hasn't it? You have been away for a long time, and our friends miss you. We want to know when you will be coming back, and we hope it will be soon._

 _I have it on good authority that the last attempt to say hello to you didn't go well. If you're still there, a friend would like to meet you at the same place in two days._

 _Things back home are alright, but people are a little tense, naturally. Actually, one of my old childhood friends finally returned from his journey recently. He has changed a lot. He is much more serious, and shows greater interest in his family's trade._

 _More has happened, but I cannot fit everything into one letter. Our friend can tell you more._

 _We all hope this reaches you well, and that you come home soon. You are missed._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Your brother_

"Garen," Lux whispered, closing her eyes. Naturally, the first she heard from her brother in years would be an impersonal letter that Intelligence probably coached him to write. And that only because they were awful at this sort of thing – anything they wrote themselves would turn out hilariously suspicious.

She spared a moment to be thankful for that. She wouldn't have to burn the letter this time, which was good, because everything else aside it was still from Garen –

Focus. What did it mean?

"Our friends" – that was obviously Demacia. Demacia wanted her back? Obviously they did, and soon – because of the war, of course.

They were also sending someone to meet her again at the same warehouse, two days from now. That was… good and bad, because it meant she was still considered a valuable asset, but it also meant she likely wouldn't be able to get her baton back before returning to Demacia. Also, that warehouse was hardly a safe meeting spot anymore, but she couldn't do much about that.

'My old childhood friend' – that one took a moment, but in the end, coming from Garen, it could only mean one person. Jarvan Lightshield IV, the prince. He'd returned to Demacia at last, then, though much changed, it seemed. Rather good timing, to come back on the eve of war – or perhaps that was why he was back. Lux had never known Jarvan all that well.

And, obviously, she'd have to ask whoever they were sending about the more sensitive matters, the things that couldn't be safely discussed via letter. She sighed.

After all this time, she mused, they wanted her back now. Of course she wanted to go home – she'd wanted to go home for years now –

(the horrible realization that no, she couldn't go back, they'd just send someone to godforsaken Noxus to take her reports, and wasn't that so convenient wouldn't it save so much time)

– but the timing was…

It didn't matter. It didn't. If they really, truly wanted her back, it was her duty to drop everything and go. But perhaps, she could finagle some more time.

Lux folded up the letter and put it in her skirt pocket. If her sense of time was right, it was nearly noon, and that meant she had to bring Cassiopeia lunch soon. Wonderful. Well, she could at least endeavor to not dig herself an even deeper grave.

* * *

As it turned out, lunch was delivered with far less fanfare than breakfast – Cassiopeia didn't ignore her, exactly, but she neither said much nor made reference to their earlier… argument. It meant Lux couldn't accurately judge what she was thinking, but it was, all in all, a sort of blessing.

Lux wandered and searched to fill the afternoon hours, and it struck her again how empty the mansion was. It was convenient, yes, but it didn't seem… right. The few servants she saw looked harried, hurrying some place or another, and she saw none of the three Du Couteaus. Though, it wasn't really her problem what they were doing.

Nothing much happened until evening, upon which she had to deliver dinner to Cassiopeia.

Adrian waved at her as she left the kitchens, and she returned a wan smile.

Lux passed Talon, along her way. She quickly got out of his path, hoping to pass unnoticed, which half worked – he spared her a long glance, but otherwise didn't do anything.

Cassiopeia's door was open, but she knocked twice on the frame before entering for the sake of politeness. There was no response, but Lux was hardly expecting one.

She cautiously made her way up to the chair and the desk, dropping off the food-laden tray with some relief – it was the heaviest one today. Cassiopeia looked at her for a moment, before turning back to whatever she was working on. A quick peek revealed it was a marked-up map and a few pictures of a vaguely Ionian style building.

Lux stood there for a short while, just in case. The room seemed more – clean? well-maintained? – than it had been earlier, she was. That was probably a good sign.

She looked back to Cassiopeia. The woman had long, curly brown hair, she noted absently, a few shades lighter than her illusion's. She hadn't noticed that earlier. Was there more light in here?

After a few minutes, Lux made to leave.

"Wait," Cassiopeia said.

She was struck with a sudden sense of déjà vu.

"What is it, ma'am?" asked Lux.

"What's your name?"

"Lucy," she replied automatically, and that should've been the end of that. But then she looked, actually looked at Cassiopeia, and her body language was screaming 'genuine' and her face looked so oddly open and vulnerable, and it seemed wrong to lie, suddenly –

(when was the last time you didn't lie? how long has it been like this)

Lux's name meant nothing to anyone, anyway, when not combined with her family name. 'Crownguard' was famous, but know one knew a 'Lux' or 'Luxanna', not here.

Cassiopeia had already gone back to her work, back turned again, but it was clear she was still paying attention.

"You… can call me Lux, though," Lux said. "It's… what my friends call me."

Cassiopeia stiffened, then nodded.

(liar liar no one's called you lux in years)

* * *

The Du Couteau's house had a library.

It was quite a nice library, really, grand, with countless bookcases no doubt made of some ridiculously rare wood and pretty decorations scattered about. It took up nearly the entire east wing on the first floor. But everything in it was covered in a thin film of dust, as if no one had been inside it for a while.

In Lux's opinion, that was a crime. She herself hadn't had access to a library for more than a year, and was feeling the deprivation acutely. Meanwhile, they had such a wonderful one right here, and it was going unused.

She stroked the spine of a book on a nearby shelf, not bothering to suppress the smile that came to her lips. It would be fine if she spared a few minutes to just… look around the library, yes?

One particular bookcase caught her eye – it was far emptier that the others. Strange. How was this library organized, anyway? There really ought to be a standard system, Lux thought.

She bent over to examine to contents of the sparsely filled bookcase, and –

"Oh," Lux muttered.

These shelves contained books about magic.

Carefully, with a reverent air, she took one of the leather-bound tomes. Judging by its title, which was printed in one of the older languages used in studying magic, it was about the different ways spells were cast.

Lux glanced around. There was still no one else in the library, so…

A comfortable-looking armchair was sitting nearby, next to a picture window. She lugged the thick volume over, then sat down heavily on the soft cushions and cracked it open. It was dark – the sun had gone down and no lights were turned on – so, after another cautious glance around, Lux created a small white ball of light that hovered above the tip of her index finger. It was nothing compared to what she could do if she either had her baton or didn't care for subtlety, but it sufficed.

Lux smiled. It was small, but genuine.

(and hasn't it been a long time for that)

She stayed there, reading, for far too long. In all fairness, that hadn't been her intention, but it was a fascinating book and the slip wouldn't have mattered – shouldn't have mattered – but for –

"You're a mage."

Lux jumped, barely stifling a yelp, and the ball of light went out.

"… hello, Talon," she said weakly, after her mental faculties had ceased doing an impression of faulty electrical wiring. "Er, what brings you here?" And how could he sneak up on her so easily?

"You're a mage," Talon repeated, completely ignoring what she'd just said.

She snuck a glance at the assassin. It was impossible to see his face in the gloom, especially with his hood up, but he didn't seem especially angry, just confused. Disbelieving. She let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"Yes, I am," Lux said, closing her book. Deny, deny, deny, act like you don't see the issue. "What of it?"

He said nothing for several seconds. Then, "Why aren't you in the military?"

Lux blinked. That… was actually a reasonable question, just one she hadn't been expecting. And now he was staring at her, waiting for an answer, because she was taking far too long.

She grasped at the first reason that came to mind. "I don't have the right… mindset, you could say. I don't take well to being ordered around, especially if I can't question those orders at all." A bit belatedly, she realized it was actually true. Huh.

Talon seemed to consider that. "How good are you at it?" he eventually asked.

"What?"

"Magic. How good are you?"

Try as she might, Lux couldn't think of a reason he might be asking. She settled on an ambiguous answer – the truth was, of course, out of the question.

(prodigy genius one of the best, no, quite possible the best in generations but the praise was always cold because it was always said in the manner of, how can we use this, like she was a tool, like she wasn't)

"I'd like to think I'm fairly decent," she said. "May I ask why you're asking?"

Lux couldn't be certain – again, it was dark, and he was wearing a hood – but she was fairly sure Talon pinched the bridge of his nose.

"There's a… problem," he said, " that I have, that I need a mage to look at. I was going to ask –" He shook his head. "But since you are one, that simplifies things."

Well, that was worryingly vague. Lux pushed away her speculations on possible issues that would trouble Talon Du Couteau. They wouldn't help.

"Alright," she said. It was hardly as if she could refuse, at any rate. "Er, is there anything I should know about this problem that you have?"

Talon looked off to the side. "Not… hm. Are you capable of stealth, at all?" His tone made it clear he was expecting a negative.

Oddness of the question aside, it was a reasonable assumption – she was supposed to be a maid, after all – but Lux still bristled slightly.

"I…" am one of the best, I've never been caught, "– am passable," she finished.

"Hm. I'll find you tomorrow, then."

With that, he left, only pausing to pick up a book from that shelf about magic. Lux sank back into her armchair, heaving a sigh.

"What interesting lives we lead," she muttered. She moved to pick up the book she'd been reading, but stopped halfway through the motion. It'd be impossible to concentrate with this on her mind.

Lux sighed again, and turned to gaze into the window behind her, reforming her ball of light. Talon now knew that she could do magic, which was far from an optimal scenario to be in. But she hadn't given away her power level or her specialty in light magic, which meant she could get out of here relatively scot-free should the need arise. Hopefully.

Her eyes refocused on the glass panes of the window as she pulled herself out of her thoughts. With her light, the library was significantly brighter than the outside, allowing the window to function as a mirror. Gray eyes stared back from the window panes, and Lux was struck by a sudden sense of vertigo – when was the last time that she'd looked into a mirror and seen her own reflection looking back?

Too long, she decided. But there was nothing to be done, really. Perhaps when she returned home…

(is it truly home if no one knows you? if no one awaits your return? if no one misses you?)


End file.
